


us against the world (and the world won)

by innertimetraveldetective, ScarletFire313



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Death, F/F, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:14:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28820544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/innertimetraveldetective/pseuds/innertimetraveldetective, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarletFire313/pseuds/ScarletFire313
Summary: Death was a funny thing, Daisy thought as she cradled Jemma’s body in her arms.   It was only five letters, one syllable. Death.  D e a t h.  It was silly, she thought, that such a little thing meant so much.  Such a little word, so innocent, so tiny, such a little word was supposed to be able to describe the world ending, a heart stopping, tears falling, numbness encasing loved ones.
Relationships: Jemma Simmons/Skye | Daisy Johnson
Comments: 18
Kudos: 18





	us against the world (and the world won)

**Author's Note:**

> CWs for death, brief mention of self-harm
> 
> Thanks @Scarletfire313 for beta-reading!

Death was a funny thing, Daisy thought as she cradled Jemma’s body in her arms. It was only five letters, one syllable. Death. D e a t h. It was silly, she thought, that such a little thing meant so much. Such a little word, so innocent, so tiny, such a little word was supposed to be able to describe the world ending, a heart stopping, tears falling, numbness encasing loved ones. 

There was a battle raging, somewhere behind her, there were shouts, and screams, and blood, Daisy could see Jemma’s seeping through her shirt, onto Daisy’s hands. There was death all around her, she could feel hearts stopping, could feel people taking their last breaths, could feel them stop, their clocks stop ticking. Her mind seemed foggy, like a veil fell around her. She was expecting a tearful goodbye, significant last words, holding the unrequited love of her life on the battlefield as she died, Daisy holding her through her last breath, a small comfort, a small piece of home. It wasn’t like that. Not at all.

There was death all around them, Jemma seemed to fall in its line, seemed to join it as her eyelids fluttered. Daisy wanted to shout, to scream, or beg her to stay. Instead she held her, silent, still, as death floated around them. 

She shook as her tears fell onto Jemma’s cheeks, as she showed no sign of reaction. Jemma,  _ her Jemma _ , she was gone. She looked peaceful, in death, Daisy would like to think, she’d like to think that Jemma’s soul was content, that she was happy, that she was okay. She’d like to believe that she was still out there, that she wasn’t holding her corpse, that she wasn’t gone forever. 

She’d like to think that Jemma died peacefully, that she was comfortable, that she wasn’t shot three times, that she was home, with her parents and Fitz, that her jumper wasn’t blood stained, that her eyes weren’t scared. Daisy wondered what her last words were, what her last thought was. Was it of Fitz, of Daisy herself, of the first law of thermodynamics, of her family cat that died when she was 8? Would the last thing she heard be gunshots, or Daisy’s cries? Would the last thing she saw be the sun, beaming in the sky above them, or Daisy’s eyes? 

Would she die easily, happily? Would she be content with the legacy she left behind? Or would she struggle in death, would she plead for more time, would she refuse to fall into its icy embrace, would she move on, or would she fight it, would she long for Earth, for Fitz, for their future. Would she die without knowing that all along, all that time, Daisy Johnson loved her back?

Would she die, never knowing that as Skye, nineteen and bright eyed, carried her box onto the Bus for the first time, her life would change. Would she die never knowing that it wasn’t because of Phil Coulson, or Grant Ward that she stayed, but Jemma Simmons. Gorgeous, bright, beautiful, Jemma Simmons, with the stars in her eyes who kept Skye in shield, Jemma who gave her a reason to stay? 

Would Daisy lose her knowing that as Jemma fell from the plane, in her last moments it was Skye she thought of? Skye, the hacker, Skye, the new girl, Skye Skye Skye, with her plaid shirts and leather jackets, Skye with her apple shampoo, Skye, with the moon in her heart, her head in the clouds, keeping Jemma’s feet on the ground. Would Daisy lose her, knowing that as Skye watched Simmons, as she longed for her, that Jemma was feeling the same?

She’d die, never able to tell Daisy that when she was Skye, deathly pale and bleeding, that Jemma’s world had almost ended with her. She’d die, never knowing that Skye would’ve given anything, her life, to be able to tell her. She’d die, never able to say that she felt the same. 

Daisy would never get to ask, never get to know if she thought of her when they were at the bottom of the ocean, Jemma would never tell her that her heart ached when she thought of it, because how could she? How could she admit that at the time her heart was breaking because she’d never get to tell her, to grow old with her, that at the grand age of 21 she’d already planned out everything, their future together, their pets’ names, where they’d live after they retired from shield? How could she admit all that, when her best friend was in a coma? How could she be so ungrateful, so disrespectful, so audacious as to go after Skye whilst Fitz, bright, funny, blue-eyed Fitz laid in the hospital bed, his confession haunting her?

Daisy pulled Jemma close to her chest, rocking them both as the atmosphere seemed to fall still around them, until it was just Daisy and Jemma, Daisy and Jemma existing in each other, Daisy and Jemma at the end of days, Daisy and Jemma remaining as everything came to a halt. Ending as it began, Daisy thought.

_ Us against the world _ . And the world won. 

After years, years by her side, years of saying nothing, of watching from a distance, of platonic hugs and her picture on her wall, years of watching them, happy, in love, this was how it ended. In the middle of a battlefield, Jemma’s blood seeping onto her t-shirt, covering Daisy’s hands, much as Skye’s had covered Jemma’s, back when they were different people. 

When they were different people, when they were young, when they hadn’t been quite so blemished by the world, by SHIELD, by love, or by war, by the horrors that they’d endured. The horrors that they’d endured  _ together _ .

Together. Maybe that’s how they were meant to be, maybe that’s what the universe intended, so why? Why did they deny each other? Why did they miss years of longing gazes, why did Jemma miss Daisy’s sobs after the monolith swept her up, why did Daisy miss Jemma’s willingness to drop everything for her? Why, why if they both knew deep down that they were so  _ right, _ why did their feelings feel so  _ wrong _ ? 

Why did Skye get a pang of guilt every time she visited Fitz in bed after Hydra? Why could she barely look him in the eye, why did she feel so  _ fucking awful _ about a  _ girl _ ? Why did Skye long for her, for her laugh everyday whilst she was away, and yet do nothing when she returned? 

Why, when Jemma came back, were they polite, nice, formal? Why did she hate it as Skye comforted her over Fitz, why did her heart twinge with guilt whenever he looked at her? Why, if she loved Fitz, was Skye the one who gave her goosebumps? The one who made her feel like she was falling and flying all at once? 

Daisy traced Jemma’s features with her finger, every freckle, every smile line, every scar, every perfect inch of her, begging the universe to let her see her face light up on more time, begging the universe to hear her talk about science, to watch her work in the lab. Begging the universe to bring Jemma back to her. It had done it once, it could do it again. 

Daisy remembered the second time the universe had torn Jemma from her. Remembered watching the security tape over and over with Fitz, remembered trying to stick by him, trying to be there, guilt crushing her everytime he mentioned Simmons’ name, every time she saw her own longing reflected in his eyes. She remembered the giddiness that had overcome her as the monolith opened, the tears that she choked out as Jemma appeared from the rubble, because she was  _ there _ , she was there, and she was real. And she was with him. Him, Fitz, always him, perfect, soft, gentlemanly, kind, sweet Fitz, who’d jump through a hole in the universe for Jemma Simmons. Daisy was  _ nothing _ compared to  _ him _ . 

Sometimes Jemma wondered if the universe was listening when she was on Maveth. If it heard her long for Skye, if it could feel her heart beat for her, and was taunting her, if it was punishing her. Because what kind of person did that to their best friend? What kind of person saw someone sacrifice himself for them, just to deny him? And God, Jemma loved Fitz, really she did. She missed him on Maveth, like a part of her had been ripped from her, but Skye, Skye was waiting for her in America, waiting for Jemma to come back. Skye was the one who got her through, the promise of being near her again, the promise of her laugh, of the sparkle in her eye, of being allowed to see her again, something which Jemma was almost certain she didn’t  _ deserve. _

And then she was back. And Skye was Daisy, strong, powerful, solid Daisy, Daisy who Jemma didn’t know, Daisy who Jemma couldn’t wait to meet. And Jemma was still longing for her, still trapped on Maveth, light years away from Skye, unable to call her the one thing she really wanted to;  _ hers _ . 

Daisy shook as she sobbed over Jemma’s body, as she was limp in her arms. It seemed so  _ wrong _ . Wrong, that she was breathing not two minutes ago. Wrong, that all it took was three bullets to end a life, three bullets to rip Jemma Simmons from life, three bullets to take away Leo Fitz’s wife forever, three bullets to tear Daisy Johnson’s world apart, three bullets and time stopped. 

She brushed a strand of hair from Jemma’s face, wondering where she was, how one second she could be there, and the next she just  _ wasn’t _ . How could the stars in her eyes stop dancing, how could her universe just collapse, how could everything come to such a screeching halt around them? How, after  _ everything _ , was this how it ended? Where was the confession of love, where were the romantic lights in the moonlight, where were the lazy mornings in, the late nights out? Where was the life Daisy had been waiting for?

How could life continue after this? How was she expected to stick her chin up, to keep living, to keep fighting through the end of the world? How could she, when she’d already lost? How could she, if it was supposed to be them, them against the world?

Was this what Lincoln was supposed to feel like? Was losing him supposed to tear her apart, supposed to send her spinning, supposed to giddy her, to  _ destroy _ her? She loved him, she knew she did, because there was no other word for it. She loved him, but this? This was awful, this was the gut-wrenching, heart tearing, soul-reaping love that she could never get over. This was  _ years _ , years of friendship, of unrequited feelings, of understanding coming to an end. Daisy had loved Lincoln, but he hadn’t torn her apart.

And it was fitting, wasn’t it? That after she left it was Jemma who brought her back, who built her up again, from Quake, from the vigilante, the lone warrior? That Jemma had saved her, Jemma had dragged her back to her family, that Jemma had taken care of her injuries, and now the tables were turned and Daisy was useless to save her. 

That after months, months of wishing herself dead because she’d killed Lincoln, because he was dead because of her, and he had been in  _ love  _ with her, and she couldn’t even do him the courtesy of falling in love with him? How dare she, how dare she take his love for granted like that, how dare she love him, but be  _ in _ love with Jemma? How dare she allow herself to live when he wasn’t able to? And so of course, of course it was her who brought Daisy back, of course it was Jemma. Because after everything, after all the insanity, it was always Jemma who Daisy stayed for. 

Of course it was Jemma, because what was shield without Daisy? It was Fitz, and May, and days in the lab, and Jeffrey Mace, and cold cups of tea. It was good, she was good, but she wasn’t okay. It was lonely, cold, empty, even. It was feeling her absence like a black hole, it was the world spinning out of control because how could anything make sense without her? Without her home, her ground, her Skye-Daisy-Quake, without the missing piece of her puzzle. 

She came back, and she was better. Jemma could feel her pain, could see it clear as day, from lines of red peeking out from under sleeves to blank expressions as she stared into the distance, but she was  _ back _ . And everyday as Jemma lay in bed next to Fitz, her head on his chest, she wondered  _ why _ . Why had it turned out this way? Why had it happened like this, why were they cursed, cursed to watch each other, to be so close, but so, so far away, held back by obligation, or confusion, or Hydra, or love. Love, what a funny thing, Jemma thought. To be in love with someone, utterly, irrevocably, painfully in love with someone, to take one look at them and  _ know _ . She loved Fitz, there was no doubt about that, she’d always love Fitz, she couldn’t imagine her life without him. But she’d seen her life without Daisy, and she never wanted to go there again. Never wanted to feel that emptiness, like a part of her had been ripped away.

Daisy looked down at her, a strand of hair falling from behind her ear. She sniffled as her tears fell on Jemma’s cheek, as Daisy supported her head, as she felt her heart stop, the lack of vibrations leaving an unfillable chasm in Daisy’s chest. She’d never be grounded by this heartbeat again, she’d never share a smile with her again, she’d never watch a film with her, or go on a mission, or hug her, or laugh, or cry. Her best friend was dead, Jemma Simmons was dead. The love of her life was dead.

But it was poetic, wasn’t it? For Jemma’s final regret to be never telling her, for Daisy’s everlasting one to be the same? 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
